I Love You NOT
by Tex-chan
Summary: Being a florist isn’t easy, a realization Aya is forced to come to grips with when Valentine’s Day and his own overtaxed imagination work together to give him a horrible day followed by an equally disturbing evening.
1. Chapter 1

_**Summary:**__ Being a florist isn't easy -- a realization Aya is forced to come to grips with when Valentine's Day and his own overtaxed imagination work together to give him a horrible day followed by an equally disturbing evening._

_**Warnings:**__ Bad language. Yaoi / Shounen-ai. Some suggestive content._

_**Legal Stuff:**__ As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it_

**I Love You NOT!**

_(An un-Valentine's Day fanfiction in four parts)_

**Part 1**

It had been an awful day. No, "awful" didn't even come close to describing it, Aya decided, as he swept up the last few fallen rose petals strewn across the Koneko's floor. He whisked them into a dustpan and, with a weary-sounding sigh, dumped them into the nearby trash can -- a gray, rubber monstrosity he had been dragging around the shop as he cleaned up. This had become a routine task now, but, as he straightened up the disorder and cleared away the trash caused by a busy day in the flower shop, Aya couldn't help but remember when he had first joined Weiss. Compared to the whole "hunter of the night" assassin thing, he had figured the flower shop gig would be a cakewalk. He hadn't expressed it openly, of course. That wasn't his way. Even now, he preferred to keep his emotions and feelings hidden as much as he could, and it had been even more like that when he had first arrived, before he had come to know and trust the other members of the team. Even so, he remembered he had been smug and self-assured, certain being a florist would be one of the easiest jobs he had ever held, and resentful of how lame and stupid Weiss's cover was.

What an idiot he had been. Aya couldn't help laughing a little bit, under his breath, as he thought about how he had believed, back then, that he had everything figured out. And, about how he had been wrong -- very, very wrong.

He had learned that fast enough. One day of getting mauled by the shop fangirls had been more than enough to open his eyes to the true hell of running the Koneko. That first baptism by fire had been followed by more, each day more hellish than the last, until, finally, Aya had gotten used to the controlled chaos that existed within the shop -- girls hanging all over him, girls asking him for dates … and more, girls squealing whenever he (or Yohji, or Ken, or Omi) walked into the room, girls asking him his blood type and astrological sign, and just … girls, girls, girls. Everywhere you looked, on any given day, the Koneko was packed with giggling, squealing, grabbing, pushy girls. Unfortunately, they also seemed to be pretty cheap, so, while it remained crowded and noisy, the flower shop never broke even. Not that Aya cared much if the Koneko succeeded. Kritiker would keep it open, anyhow, just to give Weiss a handy cover. Still, Aya didn't like being associated with a losing proposition, and knowing the Koneko was in the red grated on his nerves, even though he knew the job wasn't for real.

It was a given, something he had, by now, accepted as one of the universal truths governing his life -- every day spent pretending to be a florist held its own challenges. But, only one day each year created a special kind of hell for Aya in his florist guise.

Valentine's Day.

Just the thought of it was enough to make him shudder and, reflexively, seek out a dark, safe place to hide. Because, on Valentine's Day, the shop fangirls weren't just giggly and grabby and ridiculous. They were downright rabid. Couple that with the biggest flower-buying day of the year, and there it was -- a day made all the more hellish because it was real. Real and inescapable.

Today had been bad from the beginning. Aya had rolled out of bed with a sick, twisted feeling of dread curling around his stomach. At first, he had written it off to the fact that it was Valentine's Day. Not just a frantically busy day, but a day he hated with all his being. Something about losing his family, knowing his sister was in a coma, and having to live as an assassin to pay her medical bills made him feel less than generous toward a stupid, made-up holiday dedicated to love. But, the twisted-up, nervous feeling eating at him was too strong, even for a day he hated -- a day he dreaded, all year long.

It hadn't taken long for Aya to realize his gut instincts, as always, were dead-on accurate. Even before he opened the shop, he had known this day was going to be horrid, even for Valentine's Day. As he had rolled up the metal coverings behind the shop's front windows and door, he had found a small gang of girls huddled in a group on the sidewalk, giggling, whispering, and pointing into the Koneko's front window. As soon as they had heard the metal grating open, they had lined up in front of the shop to stare at him through the big, plate glass window. Aya had stared back at them, wondering what they were up to and dreading the moment when he had to unlock the door and let them in. They had all stayed like that for a minute or two, staring at each other, until Yohji had walked into the room, calling out a greeting to Aya as he entered. As soon as Yohji had stopped in front of the window to stand next to Aya, the group of girls had clapped their hands twice, beginning a succession of bows -- obviously praying to the "flower shop gods". Aya had rolled his eyes and glared at them, but Yohji, being the idiot he was, had waved his arms in imitation of a temple priest giving a blessing, causing the girls to scurry away, blushing and giggling.

Yohji should know better than to encourage them. The more you encouraged them, the more they came around, taking up space and wasting oxygen without buying anything. Aya had said as much that morning, as he had watched the girls run off down the street, but Yohji, as always, had laughed it off, calling him an uptight bastard and telling him to loosen up a bit.

Aya frowned at the trashcan as he remembered how Yohji had been so nonchalant about the whole thing -- teasing him by waving and blowing a kiss as he had entered the back room to check on the supplies they would need for their Valentine's Day business. Not that Aya gave a rat's ass about Yohji's opinion on anything. It was just … irritating. That was all. It didn't mean he cared, one way or the other.

At the time, the whole "praying fangirls" thing had been irritating, and it had heralded a bad start to a dreaded day. But Aya had told himself it was a good thing to get the unpleasantness over with early in the day. If that was the worst that happened, he had figured this day would be one to put in the "win" column. That was the most he could hope for, especially on Valentine's Day -- to get through the day with a minimum of fuss, and with his clothing and dignity intact. So, Aya had forced himself to see the impromptu morning prayer as a positive -- a sign that the day would only get better. And, instead of dwelling on it, he had busied himself preparing the shop for their first customers, brushing aside the uneasy feelings the incident had caused.

Aya sighed, fingering the torn sleeve of his shirt as he remembered how very wrong he had been. And, how very foolish. Maybe it wasn't foolish to hope the day would pass in peace and that the shop fangirls would, somehow, remember they were human beings and not a pack of rabid, frothing animals. Somewhere in his heart, Aya knew it wasn't foolish at all. It was normal to hope for the best, and, in a way, it was a good thing he was able to do that. He often believed his job as a member of Weiss had destroyed his humanity, taking away his capacity to feel or hope. But, this proved that wasn't true. It proved that, underneath it all, he was still human. That was a good thing. A very good thing.

Still, he couldn't help feeling a bit irritated with himself for being so wrong about today. In light of the total and complete fiasco the day had been, Aya felt more than a little foolish for the hope he had possessed early that morning.

Foolish or not, Aya's hope had been fleeting. About ten minutes after opening, a bit of a fangirl brawl had broken out in the shop. Squabbles weren't uncommon in the flower shop, especially when it was over-crowded, like it had been today. Most of those girls were very territorial about their crushes, and, when you added in the extra stress of a holiday crowd, spats were bound to erupt. This one, though, had been worse than the usual catfights they had to referee, as it had quickly escalated to physical violence.

Even now, Aya wasn't sure how it had started. From what he had been able to gather, one of the shop girls had created some kind of internet quiz called "Flowershop Soulmates", or something equally as ridiculous. On the quiz, a girl could input her blood type and birth date and answer a few questions, and, then, the computer would calculate which Koneko florist was her "soulmate".

Aya couldn't help feeling a bit perplexed at the thought of the four of them being the subjects of an internet quiz, much less the idea that anyone would want to be his soul mate. Considering the dark and tangled mess that passed for his soul, he would've felt damn sorry for anyone who had qualified for the job. It was more than any regular person should have to bear, and he should know. After all, he lived with it. And, on any ordinary day, the whole quiz thing would have been amusing -- something he joked about with the rest of his teammates after the flower shop had closed. But, today hadn't been an ordinary day. It was Valentine's Day -- a day dedicated to love. Somehow, love had a way of bringing out the worst in people, and today hadn't been any exception to that general rule.

Two fangirls had begun arguing over which of them was better qualified to be his soul mate. Another group of girls, all of whom had, also, taken the quiz and, apparently, qualified as Aya's soul mates, had overheard and joined in on the rather lively discussion. The name calling and insults had increased in volume, until they had carried above the din in the bustling flower shop. By the time Aya had realized there was a full-blown argument going on, several of the older customers had already turned to give the girls disapproving looks. The girls, of course, had ignored the glares and grumbles from the crowd around them. They were soul mates, after all; what did they care about the rest of the world? But, Aya had managed to catch the attention of one of the ringleaders, giving her a glare of irritation that had left little to the imagination. It had been more than enough to encourage his soul mates to bring their voices back down to a normal level. And, Aya had thought that would be the end of it.

It should have been the end of it. He had turned his attention back toward helping a customer, dismissing the ridiculous argument from his mind as nothing more than the normal fangirl idiocy.

Unfortunately, the soul mate love fest had only just begun. Another group of girls had wandered into the shop, all loudly proclaiming themselves as Yohji's soul mates and arguing about who was best suited to claim that vaunted status. Which, in and of itself, was fine. A little bit strange, but fine. After all, they hadn't been bothering anyone, and they had kept their voices and enthusiasm in check enough that they hadn't disturbed the other customers. But, Aya's two groups of soul mates had happened to overhear, and they had been quick to jump into the discussion. Before anyone in the shop had realized it, the fangirls' playful spat had escalated into all-out war, including scratching, biting, and hair pulling, all accompanied by harpy-like shrieks of anger that would have been loud enough to raise the dead.

Aya might have left things alone. After all, the shop had been crowded enough that the girls wouldn't have been able to do much damage to each other. And, even though they had been louder than most of the customers, the general noise level inside the store had drowned them out, for the most part. But, when they had started throwing things, he had felt compelled to intervene, elbowing his way through the crowd in his haste to reach what had become "Soul Mate Smackdown". He had reached the girls, wading into the midst of the squabble and grabbing both of the instigators by the arm so that he could escort them out of the shop.

And, that would have been that, except one of the girls, in trying to struggle away from him, had managed to land a lucky blow to Aya's rib cage, and, in particular, to a rib he had cracked during a mission. It had been a bit over a month, but the injury was still tender. It had been an accident -- a sick twist of fate and nothing more -- but the sensation of a skinny, pointy elbow driving into his injured rib had been enough to cause Aya to let go of his quarry, sending him reeling backward a few steps, clutching at the injured spot, gasping for breath, and seeing little stars pass in front of his vision. It had only taken him a moment or two to regain his composure, but, by that time, Yohji had been there to finish breaking up the fight.

Aya forced his mind away from its recap of the day and cursed under his breath as he crossed from the shop's main sales area into the back room, where they made most of the arrangements and stored their supplies. He dragged the trashcan behind him, pulling it along by one handle, and its bottom made a scraping sound as it rubbed across the store's old tile. He put away the broom and dustpan, and stowed the trashcan in a corner, next to one of their back-up coolers, before crossing the room to a small supply closet, where he found a mop and large, wheeled bucket. He retrieved both items, sticking the mop inside the bucket and using it as a lever to steer everything over toward the deep sink that dominated one wall of the room. He turned on the water, waiting for it to come out of the faucet steaming hot, and, then, lifted the bucket into the sink.

It took a few minutes for it to fill, and Aya let his thoughts wander as he watched the water flow into the mop bucket. He frowned as he remembered the anti-climactic ending to the fangirl fight. He couldn't help feeling more than a bit peeved when he remembered how the girls had turned all docile and giggly almost as soon as Yohji had arrived on the scene. Where he had received an elbow to the ribs, Yohji had gotten only giggles and googly-eyed, adoring looks as he had led both groups of girls to the shop's front door, joking about how he had always wanted his own, personal harem.

Aya lifted the bucket, now heavy from the weight of the water inside it, out of the sink and to the floor. He gasped as a sudden twinge of sharp pain ran through his side, bringing tears to his eyes. He took a couple of deep breaths to ease the sensation and did his best to ignore the dull ache as he wheeled the bucket back out to the front of the shop. The damn rib still hurt, though, and he was pissed about that. The worst part of it was that he had had to suffer through the rest of the day with Yohji teasing him about getting beaten up by a girl. Aya was sure he hadn't heard the last of that very un-funny joke. Once Yohji grabbed hold of something like that, it wasn't in his nature to let up easily, which meant Aya had at least a few more days of suffering coming his way.

Aya sighed in resignation as he began to mop the floor in the shop's front room. He found the slapping sound of the wet mop striking tile comforting. They were familiar sounds that, somehow, reminded him of home and his childhood. They always made him think of his mother -- how she had hummed a favorite song as she had cleaned, and how she had always told him mopping was her favorite household chore. The motions involved in cleaning the floor were mechanical and methodical, requiring no thought on his part, and Aya allowed his mind to continue drifting back over the day's events.

It would have been nice if the whole fangirl thing had been the worst of the day. But, things had continued to go downhill from there.

Twenty girls had purchased flowers, only to turn around and give them back to him as their Valentine's Day tributes. Aya had accepted each bouquet with a slight nod and a rather perplexed-looking frown. As soon as each girl had left the shop, he had taken the bouquets to the back room, where he had disassembled them and returned them to the shop's saleable stock. It had felt a little dishonest, but Aya had reasoned that the flowers were his, to do with as he pleased. The shop always ran short on Valentine's Day, so keeping the flowers had felt like a waste, and, besides, he was around flowers all day long. The last thing he wanted cluttering up his room above the shop was more of the infernal things. And, then, there was that little voice in the back of his mind, always whispering that giving flowers to someone as dirty as him was a waste. Aya hated that little voice, but he always seemed to listen to it, too.

Yohji, Ken, and Omi had all received their fair share of floral offerings, too. Aya had no idea what they did with their bouquets, although he suspected the others had kept them. Ken was too kind to do as Aya did and re-sell flowers given to him by an earnest, innocent girl, no matter how irritating he might find the gesture. Omi, Aya thought, wouldn't want to seem ungrateful. And, Yohji … Of all of them, Aya was the most certain Yohji had kept his offerings of love, as Yohji got no end of pleasure from seeing the physical manifestations of his dazzling effect on the local female population.

Four boys had, also, purchased flowers to give to Aya. They had stammered out their shy offerings of love, holding the flowers out to him with trembling hands, until Yohji had walked by and commented that a real man would wait until White Day, since Valentine's Day was a "girl's holiday". Each time, the boy in question had stared from Aya's frowning face to the flowers and, almost immediately, demanded a refund. Aya had shrugged and refunded the money in each instance, returning the flowers back into the store's stock -- which is where they would have ended up, anyhow. It had saved him from having to put up with accepting even more unwanted gifts, which was a good thing. On the other hand, it had doomed him to having to suffer through this whole, ridiculous scenario again in a month. Aya couldn't help being a little irritated with Yohji over that.

In the early afternoon, Aya had caught Omi and Ken snickering over something in a corner of the shop's front room. They had been standing between the two largest coolers, with their heads almost touching as they bent over something Omi held in his hands. They had looked exactly like two little kids up to no good, and it had raised Aya's suspicions enough that he had ambushed them, demanding to see what was so funny. Omi and Ken had given him two different versions of a deer-in-the-headlights expression and, without saying anything, had handed over a small magazine, printed in black and white.

Aya gave the mop a savage shove. It caused water to slosh and puddle under the cooler closest to the front door, but he didn't seem to notice, lost in the memory of how Omi and Ken had both vanished as soon as they had handed him the book. One second, they had been standing in front of him and the next, they had been nowhere in sight. That, alone, had been enough to make Aya's stomach clench with dread.

And, with good reason. Aya had looked down at the little magazine, at first, flipping through the pages without taking stock of their contents. But, near the end of the book, one image, in particular, had grabbed his full and undivided attention -- a centerfold-type spread showing him and Yohji, doing … well, things he would never even think about doing with that womanizing idiot, even if he had been gay. After all, he had heard enough of Yohji's "conquest" stories to have a pretty good idea of where Yohji had been and who had taken the trip with him. Just that small peek into Yohji's social life was enough to make Aya's toes curl -- and not in a good way, either.

Aya had stared at the detailed image for a long time, so engrossed in the horror of what he was seeing that he forgot all about the hustle and bustle of the shop around him. A couple of customers had approached him, seeking assistance, but he had glared at them until they had scurried off, intimidated into leaving him alone. He had studied the picture, turning the book left, right, and upside-down so that he could look at it from every angle. It had taken several long minutes for his brain to process the true horror of what he was seeing, although it had felt like he had glared at that picture for an eternity and then some -- as if time had stopped as soon as he had laid eyes on it. He could still remember how he had gotten more and more embarrassed, his face flushing red and his skin feeling hot with the stinging emotions the image brought out for him.

After a few minutes, he had forced himself to calm down enough to page through the book at a slower pace, taking the time to read the story and look at the rest of the pictures. Thankfully, none of them was as bad as the full-page spread that had initially gotten his attention, but he had felt despair twisting its way through his insides when he realized what the little magazine was -- one of those fan-made doujinshi-type things, which meant there could be hundreds of copies of it out there, floating around town. It was exactly like the ones he had seen different fangirls carrying in the shop, except this story was about him and Yohji -- two very real people -- and not about anime characters. It was a yaoi story; the centerfold picture had made that painfully clear, even at first glance. And, overall, the story was about how Yohji had fallen in love with him, wooed him, and won his heart, at which point the plot climaxed -- very literally -- in the image of the two of them engaged in very kinky activities that were probably illegal in some parts of Japan.

Even as embarrassed as he had been, Aya had thought the whole thing was stupid. As if he would be won over by something as ridiculous as a home-cooked meal, a fancy dessert, and gaudy jewelry. Aya wasn't sure what he had found more irritating about the damn book -- that he was such a pushover, that he was doing it with Yohji, or that he had been on the bottom. As if that would ever happen, he thought, giving the mop another savage push and scattering even more water across the already flooded floor.

Discovering he was the subject of a ridiculous, fantasy-ridden yaoi doujinshi would have been bad enough. Certainly, it would have been enough to cement this day as the total and complete wreck it was. But, the horror hadn't stopped there.

One of the fangirls, upon noticing him reading the doujinshi, had approached and asked him to autograph her copy.

Aya remembered how he had given the girl a dismayed look, unsure how to respond. His first impulse had been to kill her and take her copy of the damn book, but his mind had quickly nixed that idea. His second gut instinct had been to scream, throw the magazine in her face, and run into the back room to hide. His mind hadn't liked that option, either, so he had settled for staring at the girl for what had seemed like several long moments, unable to do or say anything in response to her request.

Then, he had looked up, past the fangirl, who was still eagerly thrusting her much dog-eared copy of the hated doujinshi toward him, and across the Koneko's crowded front room. He had seen Yohji on the other side of the shop, surrounded by a group of giggling girls. Yohji had been laughing and joking and, even worse, signing copies of the very same doujinshi Aya held crumpled in his clenched fist. Yohji had looked up to see Aya staring at him, and he had winked and blown Aya a kiss, causing the fangirls around him to shriek in delight.

That had been it. Aya had realized he couldn't take any more. If he had stayed in the front of the shop, he would have ended up killing someone for sure, and he had been certain that would be bad for business, not to mention Weiss's cover.

He had shoved both copies of the doujinshi back into the face of the startled girl who had been asking for his autograph, and, as quickly as he could, had retreated into the relative safety of the Koneko's back room, where he had stayed for the rest of the day.

And, that brought him to the here and now, where he was flying solo, cleaning up the wrecked front room. He had had to promise to do this before the other guys would leave him alone.

It was a miserable job, cleaning up the business area of the Koneko. And, it took forever unless a couple of people tackled the task, especially after a day like today. But, he was almost done now. Aya made one last swipe with the mop and backed up until he stood on the threshold between the shop's front and back rooms, dragging the mop bucket behind him as he paused to survey his work.

He had cleaned the counters, cleaned the coolers, and restocked the plants around the counter and the ribbon and tissue paper kept near the cash register. He had counted and totaled the cash register to make sure the day's receipts matched up to the cash in the drawer, although they wouldn't have an official accounting for the day until Omi had finished tallying the credit card receipts. He had cleaned the big front windows before pulling down the metal grating that locked the Koneko off from the outside world, and he had swept and mopped the floor. He was physically and mentally exhausted, and his injured rib ached -- a dull, steady throb that seemed to travel all the way through his body and occasionally ended in a burning sensation that forced him to pause and catch his breath. Even so, he figured the extra work had been worth it. It was a small price to pay for a day of peace. Now, though, he was ready to be done. He was ready to head upstairs so that he could collapse on his bed and find his way into blissful unconsciousness as quickly as possible.

Aya rolled the mop bucket into the back room, groaning as he lifted it up and tipped it over the sink's lip. He leaned against the sink and watched as the dirty, gray water swirled down the drain. That was exactly how he felt, Aya realized -- used up and dirty. It wasn't any kind of startling revelation, but it was an uncomfortable thought that hit him hard. He wasn't sure why it had occurred to him at that moment. Maybe it was because the day had been so exhausting, making it impossible for him to keep his feelings hidden like he normally would. That had to be it. Once he had gotten a decent night's sleep, he would feel better. Things would look better. He had to believe that. Otherwise, he would just make himself crazy thinking about it, and what good would that do?

**TBC in Part 2 …**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Summary:**__ Being a florist isn't easy -- a realization Aya is forced to come to grips with when Valentine's Day and his own overtaxed imagination work together to give him a horrible day followed by an equally disturbing evening._

_**Warnings:**__ Bad language. Yaoi / shounen-ai. Some suggestive content._

_**Legal Stuff:**__ As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it_

**I Love You NOT!**

_(An un-Valentine's Day fanfiction in four parts)_

**Part 2**

Yohji paused at the bottom of the stairs leading from their living area above the Koneko into the shop's back room. He frowned as he watched Aya, who stood at the sink with his back to the stairwell, and he couldn't help feeling a bit surprised when Aya didn't turn around to face him. Usually, Aya had a sixth sense about being watched. Yohji had always found it a bit creepy and more than a little irritating, but it had saved their butts on missions more than once, so he had come to value Aya's uncanny ability. Now, though, Aya leaned on the sink and seemed engrossed in watching the dirty mop water swirl down the drain, taking no notice of Yohji's presence.

Yohji didn't like what he saw. It told him Aya wasn't all there, and that bothered him. Aya was tired and hurting; Yohji could tell from the way he slumped over the sink, leaning against it as if it was the only thing keeping him on his feet. And, Yohji didn't like that, either. He also didn't like it that he was the one who had had to come down here to try and deal with Aya's pissy mood. Much as he hated to see his friend hurting and exhausted, he had to admit he liked that the least of all.

He wasn't sure why he had been elected Aya's designated babysitter. Maybe it was because he had learned to tiptoe around Aya's moods better than anyone else. Hell, he didn't so much tiptoe around them as ignore them altogether. Maybe it was because, although, Aya might want to kill him on a regular basis, he never acted on those impulses, showing an odd generosity of spirit toward Yohji that, often, seemed out of character for him. Yohji knew it was all an act -- the bad moods, the temper tantrums, the occasional drama queen freak-out. Well, mostly an act. There was a sliver of Aya's personality in all of those things, but Aya wasn't like that, underneath it all. He knew Aya wasn't the moody, cold asshole the rest of the world thought him to be. It was Aya's way of keeping everyone at a safe distance, of protecting himself from fears and feelings he didn't want to have, of keeping himself from getting hurt again. Yohji knew all of this, and, over time, he had developed a grudging respect for Aya. Given more time, that grudging respect had turned into honest friendship. Which brought Yohji's thoughts full-circle, because he knew that was the real reason he always ended up babysitting Aya -- because he was the only one who could, and, if the truth were known, he wouldn't want anyone else to do it. Still, it was a draining and thankless job, always having to pussyfoot around Aya's mood swings.

Yohji was tired, too. Valentine's Day brought out the worst in everyone, and it seemed like every stupidly love-struck, idiotic, stressed-out person in Tokyo had crossed their doorstep today. He was ready for this day to be over and done with, wanting nothing more than to head upstairs to finish his dinner, take a hot shower, relax with his favorite booze and a cigarette or two, and head to bed. The urge was strong -- so strong that he came close to turning around and heading back up the stairs without saying anything. After all, he had only promised to check on Aya. And, he had. Aya was here, almost done cleaning up, and he was alive and well.

Yohji squinted through his dark sunglass lenses and the murky, dim light in the back room, taking a closer look at Aya's hunched posture. Okay, so, maybe he wasn't "well", but he was alive. That was about all any of them could hope for, after a busy day like today.

Yohji sighed. No matter how much he wanted to, he knew he wouldn't turn around and leave. Not without at least trying to talk to Aya. He had known that from the beginning, from the very moment he had left his half-eaten dinner upstairs and headed down here to check on his prodigal friend. And, Yohji hated that, too. It made him feel just … pissed. He wouldn't have had things any other way, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about throwing himself to the wolves every time.

He watched Aya for a few more seconds, debating on the best way to approach the younger man. Aya was pissed off, tired, and hurting, and Yohji knew he had to tread lightly. He couldn't walk up to Aya right now -- not unless he wanted to risk serious injury. He had hoped Aya would notice him, if he waited long enough. But, that didn't seem likely. He had been standing here for a few minutes, and Aya had yet to move or turn away from the sink.

Yohji cleared his throat and called, "Hey."

Aya jumped, startled, at the sound of Yohji's voice and whirled around to face the older man, wincing in pain at the sudden motion. The mop bucket fell into the sink with a clatter, splashing dirty water across the nearby counter.

Aya sighed, brushing at the water spots dotting the front of his shirt, and frowned at Yohji -- one of his typical, eyes-narrowed glares that left Yohji wondering if Aya was mad at him or at the situation, in general.

"What do you want?" Aya asked.

He tried to put a bit of an angry snarl into his voice, but he failed. Instead, the question came out sounding tired and a bit whiny. Aya hated that, and he mentally cursed himself for showing even this small bit of weakness. Sure, Yohji had seen him much worse than this, but that didn't matter. In Aya's mind, weakness was weakness, and he shouldn't make himself vulnerable like that -- to anyone, even someone he trusted.

Yohji shook his head and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, as if he would find the reasons behind Aya's bitchy personality written somewhere above him. It was a gesture he had repeated hundreds of times since meeting Aya, and one he supposed he would repeat thousands more before they parted ways. It never helped. Of course, the answers weren't there. They never would be. And, yet, Yohji kept on doing it. In some small way, it telegraphed his feelings to Aya, telling the younger man he wasn't fooled by all the prissy, bitchy bullshit, and that always made Yohji feel a hell of a lot better.

"Nothing," Yohji replied, crossing the floor to stand next to Aya. "I just came down to check on you. You know, see if you needed any help."

Aya shrugged, his eyes narrowing as the slight motion caused a twinge of pain to shoot through his side.

"No," he replied, "I'm almost done. I just need to mop back here."

Yohji reached into the sink to retrieve the mop bucket. It was old and made of metal, and it was heavy, even though it was empty. He shooed Aya's reaching hands out of the way with an impatient wave of his own hands, grunting as he lifted the bucket out of the sink. Its sides were wet, causing it to slip out of his grip. It fell to the floor, landing with a clatter, and rolled away from them, coming to a stop a short distance away when it banged into the leg on one of the work tables lining the room's walls.

"Just leave it," Yohji said. "I'll mop in here tomorrow, either before we open, or during the morning lull. I have first shift."

Aya didn't reply right away. He frowned at Yohji, as if trying to decide whether or not the older man was patronizing him. He wanted to take Yohji up on the offer. But, at the same time, he didn't want it to seem like he couldn't take care of himself or pull his own weight around the shop. He knew Yohji knew better than that, but it didn't matter. His first, automatic, reaction, when anyone offered him a helping hand, was to become defensive. Maybe it was because he had been on his own for so long. Maybe it was because he didn't want to owe anyone any favors, although, when it came to his teammates, he would have readily helped them out, too. Maybe he was just twisted that way. Aya wasn't sure, and he didn't bother sparing the brain power to figure it out at that moment. He just went with his first, gut, instinct.

"I don't need anyone to look out for me. I can take care of myself," Aya replied.

"I know that," Yohji said. "But, that rib hasn't healed yet, has it? I know it was bothering you all day. You shouldn't strain it any more than you already have. Besides, I don't mind."

Aya continued to frown.

"I'm not some invalid you have to baby sit," he said, his voice low and his tone taking on a deadly edge.

Yohji sighed -- a short, huffing puff of air through his nostrils, communicating his disgust in no uncertain terms.

"Good fucking grief," he snapped. "Can't you, just for once, let someone be fucking nice to you? Why do you do that? Why can't you just say "OK, Thanks," and move on? Why does it always have to be some kind of drama queen judgment shit with you? You're tired. It's been a long day. Just leave it at that."

Yohji's voice trailed off as his angry tirade stumbled to a halt. He paused for a second or two before mumbling, "Besides, it's the least I can do. I did kind of give you a hard time today. Call it payback, if you want."

Aya considered that for a couple of moments. Yohji was right. He was tired, and it had been a long day. He was ready to call it quits, and had even considered skipping the task of mopping the back room, figuring no one would notice. Plus, Yohji had been in fine form today, which had made life hell.

Finally, Aya nodded, agreeing to Yohji's proposal.

"Great," Yohji said, turning back toward the stairs. "Omi and Ken already ate, and I'm about done with dinner, too. But I left a plate warming for you on the stove, if you want it."

"No," Aya replied, following Yohji up the stairs. "I'm not hungry. After I finished cleaning, I had planned on just going to bed. It's been a long day."

Yohji didn't bother trying to talk Aya into eating. He knew it wouldn't do any good, so he just shrugged in response to Aya's statement and continued up the stairs.

* * *

Aya sighed as he entered his room. There was a full moon out tonight, but the blinds over his windows were drawn, casting the room into darkness. Even so, Aya didn't bother turning on a light. He didn't need to. He had lived in this room long enough that its layout was engrained in his memory -- every seam in the carpet, every crack in the wall, every stick of furniture, and every item on the floor. Not that there was anything on the floor. At least, not usually. Usually, the room looked as if no one lived in it -- no personal touches, nothing out of place, not so much as a speck of dust on the dresser or shelves. Tonight, though, would be an exception to Aya's usual neat-freak tendencies. Tonight, he was too tired to pick up after himself, and too tired to care.

Aya negotiated his way around the dresser near the door. He stopped in front of his closet, where he undressed. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. He pulled off his jeans, stepping out of them and leaving them piled on the floor, next to the discarded shirt. He thought about putting on a fresh t-shirt before going to bed -- one of his old, soft ones that always felt so good against his skin, especially if he was tired. But he decided against it. He was too worn out to rummage around through the dresser to find a clean one. With another sigh of exhaustion, he fell into bed. He was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

**TBC in Part 3 …**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Summary:**__ Being a florist isn't easy -- a realization Aya is forced to come to grips with when Valentine's Day and his own overtaxed imagination work together to give him a horrible day followed by an equally disturbing evening._

_**Warnings:**__ Bad language. Yaoi / shounen-ai. Some suggestive content._

_**Legal Stuff:**__ As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it_

**I Love You NOT!**

_(An un-Valentine's Day fanfiction in four parts)_

**Part 3**

Someone was in his room. They hadn't made any noise, but the sensation of another presence, the feeling that something was "not right" nagged at Aya. It worked its way into his subconscious until, finally, it penetrated the foggy haze of his exhaustion and pulled him out of the deep sleep into which he had fallen. Even so, he didn't wake up. Not right away. On any normal night, the feeling of an uninvited presence this close to him would have jolted him into instant wakefulness, no matter how soundly he had been sleeping. But, tonight was not a normal night. It had been a long day. Aya was exhausted. He was in a bad mood. And all he wanted to do was catch a decent night's sleep. It was comfortable there, in the blackness of slumber. Peaceful. He didn't have to know anything. He didn't have to feel anything. He didn't have to think anything. And he wanted to stay there, so much so that he allowed the peace to lull his mind into a haze of apathy that dulled his senses. Somewhere, deep down inside, his mind screamed at him that someone was there. Someone was in his room. Someone had gotten this close to him at a time when he was vulnerable. It wasn't safe. But, Aya had little trouble ignoring that part of his psyche. So, someone was in the room. Big deal. Tonight, he figured, they could have him. If they killed him, it would save him from another day in the flower shop. If he had been awake, Aya might have found that thought amusing. Instead, it barely registered in his mind before he drifted back to sleep.

The illusion of peace didn't last.

Aya felt the mattress shift as his uninvited visitor sat down on the edge of the bed. This was enough to jerk Aya fully awake. Someone in his room was one thing -- a danger he was willing to chance tonight. But, that someone in his bed -- that was something altogether different. Aya's mind switched into assassin mode. It wasn't a conscious decision on his part, but an automatic, instinctive change born from years of long, hard experience.

His brain whirled as he calculated the possibilities. Who had invaded his space like this? How close were they? How hard would it be to get away from this threat? And, most importantly, how would he kill this person without attracting undue attention to Weiss's cover?

Aya forced his mind to slow down. He willed his body to remain relaxed and unmoving, as he pretended he was still asleep. He gave no indication he was aware of the other person's presence. For one thing, he needed these few, precious seconds to assess the situation. For another, he was tired. He didn't want to kill anyone tonight; it was supposed to be his night off from that particular occupation. Maybe, if he stayed very still and pretended to be asleep, his unexpected visitor would wise up and realize breaking into an assassin's room in the dead of night was a bad idea. And, then, maybe they would leave on their own.

Aya cursed mentally as he felt the mattress shift beneath him again, followed by the weight and warmth of another body next to his, indicating his intruder, instead of taking the prudent option of exiting the room, had decided to lie down on the bed.

Aya's muscles tensed as he felt a warm, sweaty hand against his chilled skin. It stroked his body, caressing his cheek and pressing for a moment against his lips before moving down to travel over his chest and stomach. The touch was light and gentle, although it became more hesitant as it moved down the length of his body. It stopped and started across the skin of his chest -- not as if this unknown person were taking their time, enjoying the feel of his body beneath their fingers, but as if they were uncertain and timid about the situation. When the touch reached his stomach, Aya could feel the way it trembled, communicating the uninvited visitor's doubt and hesitation. Even so, the hand never stopped moving, never stopped stroking across Aya's skin and the well-defined muscles in his chest and abdomen.

'Oh no. And, hell no,' Aya thought, as he felt fingers begin to fumble with the waistband of his boxers.

"I know you're awake, baby," a husky voice whispered in his ear, before Aya could say anything.

Aya felt a shock of surprise and dread race through him. He knew that voice. He had heard it every day since he had joined Weiss. Ken's voice. There was no mistaking it, although he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why in the holy hell Ken would be in his room. And, not only in his room, but invading his personal space in such an uncomfortable way. Since when did he and Ken get along well enough for that? On most days, it took all the self control either of them possessed just to stay in the same room without killing each other. And, for that matter, since when was Ken gay?

Aya opened his eyes to find Ken leaning over him, a mixture of desire and anxiety in his eyes. Aya couldn't help thinking the expression made Ken look a little like a love-struck calf.

"You'd better have a fucking good explanation for why you're here. Or, maybe I should just skip the whole embarrassed stammering thing and kill you now," Aya snarled.

He planted his hand on Ken's chest and pushed backward to put some distance between them. At the same time, he used his other hand to shove Ken's questing fingers away from their intended goal.

"Oh, come on, sweetie. Don't be like that. You know why I'm here," Ken whispered, his breath hot and moist against Aya's skin and his words muffled as he bent to kiss Aya's neck.

Baby? Sweetie?

Aya couldn't figure out what the hell was going on here. Maybe Ken was sleepwalking. Maybe he had fallen and hit his head, or maybe Ken had finally gone off the deep end. Aya had thought for a long time now that Ken was the most messed up out of all of them. That it would only be a matter of time before he fell off the narrow ledge of sanity. Maybe, that time had come. Whatever the reason, Aya didn't have the liberty of trying to figure things out, because Ken's hands were, once more, hard at work roaming over Aya's chest and stomach and getting perilously close to what Ken apparently considered the Promised Land.

Aya growled in frustration as he, again, shoved Ken's hands away from the waistband of his underwear. He tried to scoot away from his oddly amorous teammate, but Ken was a little faster, stopping Aya's retreat by grabbing a handful of Aya's hair in an attempt to hold him in place.

This was bad. Really bad. He wanted to get away. He needed to get away. And he didn't want to hurt Ken. For one thing, he couldn't figure out how to explain it to Kritiker. But, more than that, they were in his room, and Aya didn't want to deal with the mess. Not after the crappy day he had already had. It was obvious Ken thought this was nothing more than a game.

A game between lovers.

Just the thought of it was enough to make Aya's stomach clench with dread. He had never encouraged this type of intimacy. He went out of his way to prevent almost any personal contact. Hell, he wasn't even gay. He couldn't figure out how Ken's wires had become so badly crossed. For now, though, Aya realized he didn't have the time to ponder over it. Ken still had a death grip on his hair, and he was using it to draw Aya closer to him for what probably would have been a very passionate, albeit clumsy, kiss. Well, passionate from Ken's point of view, that is.

"You know I love these games, baby. I love it when you play rough," Ken whispered into Aya's ear, laughing as Aya struggled underneath him.

"Then, you're gonna get a big kick out of this," Aya snarled back, as he grabbed Ken by the throat and pushed -- hard.

Ken fell backward and tumbled off of Aya's bed. He landed in an untidy heap on the floor and looked up at Aya with an expression that managed to encompass "confused", "hurt", and "accusing" all at the same time.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Ken demanded.

"Wrong with me? What the hell?!" Aya snapped in return. He sat up and glared at Ken for a few seconds before continuing, "You're in my room. In my bed. I think you're the one who has some explaining to do. Or, maybe you just have a death wish."

"Death wish? Me? What?" Ken stammered, obviously shaken by the sudden disintegration of what he had expected to be a very romantic, love-filled evening. He paused for a few moments to gather his composure before continuing, "I was just … you know … doing what you wanted."

There was an unguarded moment when an expression of confused shock crossed Aya's face. Ken's answer, spoken in the younger man's straight-forward, honest manner, took him so by surprise that he couldn't hide the emotion. But, it was just for a moment -- a heartbeat, maybe two -- and Aya brought his feelings back under control so that his face, once again, revealed nothing about his thoughts. He wasn't sure what he should say in response to Ken's statement, and he couldn't figure out how Ken had gotten this ridiculous idea, in the first place, so he stalled by staring, spearing Ken with an angry, cold glare that caused him to fidget under its weight.

"Why would you think this is what I wanted?" Aya asked, nodding his head toward Ken, who was naked, except for a pair of socks, and still sitting on the floor next to his bed.

Ken chuckled -- a small sound that betrayed his nervousness. Aya's words were edged in venom, and he continued to give Ken that cold, assessing look. All of a sudden, what had seemed certain in Ken's mind felt more than a bit ridiculous, and he couldn't help but hope that Aya was in a generous mood. He realized Aya was waiting. Waiting for answers he didn't have, and he knew he had to make his explanation count. Otherwise, there was a very real chance he wouldn't make it out of this alive. Or, Aya might let him live, but he would end up maimed. Neither was an appealing option, from Ken's point of view.

Ken cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his already-mussed hair. He laughed a little, an involuntary sound born of his nervousness over the situation. Ken knew it made him seem weak and flighty, like one of those ridiculous girls who frequented the shop, and he hated that. He cringed as the nervous laugh escaped his lips, wishing he could tunnel right down into the floor to escape Aya's angry glare. But, that wasn't possible. No matter how much Ken wished otherwise, he was stuck here -- with a love connection gone bad, facing a very pissed off Aya, and wracking his brain for a way to explain himself.

"You know," Ken said, "We've got a connection, right? You feel it too. I know you do. Especially after what you said to me last night at dinner."

Aya frowned down at his confused, love-struck teammate. Had he accidentally led Ken on? Had he led Ken to believe there was a mutual interest here? No matter how much he thought about it, Aya couldn't figure out what he might have done to make Ken believe this was an acceptable situation, and he was beginning to wonder if that damn Schwarz telepath was behind this whole ridiculous fiasco. This would be just the kind of thing that would make Schuldich cackle with glee. At least, Aya thought so, based on what he knew about their rivals.

"At dinner?" Aya asked, still searching for clues to explain Ken's odd behavior.

Ken nodded. "Yeah. You know. When Omi was talking about his school project."

Aya's eyes narrowed as he frowned again. "I asked you to pass me the soy sauce," he said, his tone hesitant and confused.

"Right," Ken replied, his expression brightening as he realized that Aya also remembered their magical moment. "But, it was the **way** you asked. I knew you wanted me."

"Think again," Aya said.

"So, then … that's a no?" Ken asked.

Aya didn't say anything. Instead, he glared at Ken, giving the younger man one of those expressions that should be able to melt paint. Ken remained decidedly unmelted, but the angry, smoldering glare caused another round of nervous giggling.

"Ken, Ken, Ken. "No" is just a stepping stone to "yes." Did I not teach you anything?"

Aya jumped at the sound of the new voice, which seemed to purr out of the shadows near the doorway. That voice was distinctive -- rough and a little hoarse, but, somehow, silky-smooth at the same time, and with a teasing undertone that was all too familiar. There was no mistaking the identity of this newest nighttime visitor, although Aya couldn't figure out why in the world he was so popular, all of a sudden.

"Yohji," Aya said.

He tried to keep his voice even and emotionless. But, he could hear the tremble that made the word come out sounding small and uncertain. Aya cringed and cursed under his breath. Yohji's presence here, like this, made him nervous, and Aya knew the slight tremor in his voice telegraphed that to the older man. He might as well have written it out in neon lights; it would be that obvious to Yohji, and Aya hated that. He hated for anyone to know his feelings. It was too much like giving away a piece of himself, or like surrendering control. Neither of those things appealed to Aya -- ever.

He wasn't sure why he was nervous. It wasn't like he thought of Yohji **that** way. He didn't. Yohji was his friend. Maybe his best friend, even, although Aya never allowed himself to think in those terms. He couldn't, not if he wanted to keep everyone at a safe distance.

Speaking of safe distances …

Yohji stood half in shadow, so that it was impossible to read the expression on his face. Even so, Aya had no trouble seeing his confident, relaxed posture as Yohji leaned against the wall next to the door. As always, he was smug and self assured. His tone of voice and body language left no doubt of that, and Aya looked from him to Ken, who remained where he had fallen, sitting on the floor next to the bed.

Suddenly, Aya knew why he was nervous. This whole situation was fucked. And then some. It wasn't like he invited people into his room -- ever. Here he had two unwanted guests within the span of minutes, and, to make matters worse, both of them had come with less than pure intentions in their hearts -- to say the least. Since when did anyone want to stay in the same room with him, much less sleep with him? That was a mystery to Aya, and one he knew he couldn't spare the brain power to figure out right now.

Resisting Ken's misplaced advances hadn't been that difficult. Ken was sincere and had a good heart, even if he could be a bit unbalanced at times. But, overall, he was inexperienced in the whole seduction scene. His advances had been clumsy and too straightforward, just the kind of thing you would expect from someone who was unsure and, maybe, a little bit afraid of their feelings. That had made it easy for Aya to gain and keep the upper hand in their exchange.

That wouldn't be the case with Yohji. Aya had been on the receiving end of Yohji's flirtatious attentions often enough to know. Not that Yohji was any more interested in Aya than Aya was in him. But Yohji flirted like most people breathed. It was second nature to him, and he was good at it. Very good. Yohji wasn't into taking something another person was unwilling to give, but he had this uncanny ability to turn any "no", no matter how adamant, into a "yes, please". Aya had seen it happen to various women enough times to know it was true. It was like Yohji possessed some super power or something, except he only used it for his own personal gain. The thing was, if Yohji had decided on this as his evening's entertainment, Aya knew there was very little he could do. And, in the end, there was likely to be very little he wanted to do about it. Aya didn't like admitting that, even to himself. Still, he was enough of a realist that he couldn't deny it. Yohji was just like that.

'Right, then,' Aya thought, his glare intensifying, 'The best defense is a good offense. Isn't that what they always say?'

"Get out. Now. Unless you want me to kill you and be done with it," he snarled at Yohji. He was careful to keep his voice low and threatening, making sure his newest uninvited guest knew it wasn't an idle threat.

Or, more specifically, he snarled it at the empty space where Yohji had been standing seconds before.

Aya jumped -- an involuntary, startled reaction -- when he felt the mattress dip under Yohji's weight as the other man slid into the bed. Yohji managed to wedge himself into the small space between Aya and the headboard, so that he was sitting directly behind Aya, and so close that Aya could feel the heat from Yohji's body against his own skin.

He hadn't seen Yohji move. He hadn't heard Yohji cross the floor. So, how the holy hell did Yohji get from over there to right here in what seemed like the blink of an eye? He was about to ask, when the feel of Yohji's fingers caressing the curve of his spine reminded him there were other, more important matters to deal with. It was just like any other mission. He had to take charge of the situation, and he had to do it now. Or he was dead … or worse.

"I told you to get out," Aya said.

He tried to make his voice sound harsh and matter-of-fact, as if there was an implied threat of bodily harm laced around the words. But, Yohji picked that moment to reach around with his free hand and stroke the muscles along Aya's ribcage and abdomen. Aya's breath caught in his throat at the feel of Yohji's long, slender fingers teasing their way over his body, and what he had intended as an imposing threat come out sounding uncertain and hesitant, as if he couldn't quite make up his mind whether or not he wanted Yohji to leave.

Aya's muscles had tensed up at first. He was a private person. The kind of person who liked to hold himself apart and away from everyone around him, and this type of intimate contact made him uncomfortable and uneasy. But, Yohji's hands were soft -- much softer than Aya would have expected them to be, considering the vicious nature of their night jobs. His touch was gentle -- the barest whisper of skin against skin -- and confident, as if he knew he had every right to be here, doing exactly what he was doing. One hand continued to stroke Aya's back, seeming, as if by instinct, to home in on the spots where his muscles were tight and sore, massaging out the tension-created knots. The other hand roamed over his torso -- caressing the muscles in his chest and circling his nipples before moving farther down to travel across his stomach in long, leisurely strokes. It wasn't rushed, the way Ken's advance had been. Instead, this was unhurried and calm. Yohji's touch lingered on Aya's body, as if Yohji's hands wanted to devour him as they caressed every inch of Aya's skin, even pausing to linger over the welt-like scars that marred the otherwise smooth surface. He took his time, seeming to enjoy the feel of Aya's body beneath his fingers. After a few minutes, Aya relaxed, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He hadn't wanted to. He hadn't wanted anything other than to convince Yohji to leave, but he couldn't help himself.

Yohji reached around with both arms, enfolding Aya in a loose hug and pulling Aya toward him. Aya didn't fight or try to struggle away, but submitted to Yohji's gentle, yet insistent, demand. He leaned back, resting against Yohji's chest. He could feel Yohji's body pressed against his, and he shivered. He wanted to pull away. He knew, if he pulled away, Yohji wouldn't try to keep him there. But something kept him frozen in place, enjoying the warmth of Yohji's body against his back, the feel of Yohji's hands having their way with his body, and Yohji's distinctive scent -- stale cigarettes, old perfume, booze, and flowers -- washing over him, filling his senses and telling him there was nothing to fear. Aya wouldn't have wanted to admit it to himself -- ever -- but it felt good, being able to lose himself like this, being able to trust someone this way. He didn't have to be strong. He didn't have to be cold or unfeeling. He just had to **be**.

Aya rested his head in the curve of Yohji's shoulder. He felt his breath hitch in his throat as Yohji ran an index finger across his lips and, then, along his jaw. The whisper-soft touch followed Aya's jaw line before continuing down along his throat and, finally, tracing patterns across the muscles of his chest. At the same time, Yohji dipped his head a little, just enough so that he could run his tongue along the line of Aya's jaw, following the path previously traced by his fingers. Licking quickly turned into kissing, which, just as quickly, devolved into a series of gnawing, sucking nips as Yohji nibbled his way down Aya's jaw to his throat, where he paused long enough to suck at the pulse point near Aya's collarbone. Aya shuddered, shivering at the feel of Yohji's teeth tugging gently at his skin.

"You really want me to leave?" Yohji asked, whispering the words into Aya's ear in a husky voice that was caught somewhere between a growl and a purr of pleasure.

Yohji's breath was hot and moist against his skin, and Aya felt his stomach flip-flop. It was a strange feeling that quickly turned into a throbbing ache deep inside his body. He felt Yohji's other hand -- long fingers tangling themselves in his hair as Yohji gave a gentle tug. Aya followed, allowing Yohji to pull his head a little back and to the side. Yohji grinned at him -- a wicked, predatory kind of smile that caused a shiver to run down Aya's spine.

"You really want me to leave?" Yohji asked again.

Yes. That's all Aya had to say. It's what he wanted to say. But Yohji's lips were on his; Yohji's hands were on his body -- moving across his chest, caressing his nipples, stroking down his stomach and across his groin; Yohji's tongue was against his lips, demanding access, and Aya's mouth opened under the gentle, persuasive pressure; then, Yohji's tongue was inside his mouth, licking across his teeth and tongue as the kiss deepened; Yohji was all around him -- his taste, his smell, and the warmth from his body enveloped Aya, overwhelming him and making him feel weak and helpless to resist. He wanted Yohji to leave. He wanted Yohji to leave him alone. He wanted to tell Yohji to get the hell out of his room. And yet, he never wanted this to end. He felt dizzy, as if the world had begun to spin out of control, taking him along for the ride. His senses were close to overloading, and he knew he would never have control of this situation. He never had been in control of this; any belief otherwise was an illusion. At any other time, Aya would have hated that. But, now, he didn't care. He wanted to tell Yohji to leave him alone. Instead, he reached up and fisted his hand in Yohji's hair, pulling the older man closer to him as he returned the kiss, his tongue questing into Yohji's mouth and raking across Yohji's teeth. His order for Yohji to leave never came. The words were lost in Aya's low, throaty moan of pleasure.

"Damn, you **are** good."

Yohji jumped at the sound of the voice. In the heat of the moment, he had forgotten anyone else was in the room. He broke the kiss, eliciting a soft whine of frustration from Aya, and looked up to find Ken watching them -- a hungry, almost feral-looking expression in his eyes. He was still sitting on the floor, where he had fallen earlier, and, from the looks of things, he had enjoyed the show -- a lot.

"Ken," Yohji panted, trying to catch his breath.

At any normal time, Yohji would have been pissed to realize he had an audience. He was a bit of an exhibitionist, but there were some things Yohji did not believe in sharing. And seduction games with Aya were at the top of that list. It wasn't that he particularly cared about being watched. It was more that he had no desire to share the prize he had worked to secure. Of course, this wasn't exactly a "normal" time. If it had been, Yohji was certain he wouldn't be sitting here with a lap full of very compliant assassin and his hand thrust down the front of Aya's underwear.

So, instead of following his first instinct, which would have been to tell Ken, in no uncertain terms, to take a hike, Yohji chose to ignore his voyeuristic teammate. He allowed Aya to pull him into another deep, breath-stealing kiss. In no time, he was, once again, lost in the moment, forgetting all about Ken's presence.

Yohji cursed mentally when he felt the mattress dip, signaling that Ken had decided to join them on the bed. He pulled away from Aya to glare at this latest arrival to what, in his mind, should be a very exclusive party.

Ken remained stubbornly oblivious to Yohji's territorial mood. He gave Yohji a good-natured grin and scooted a little closer to his two teammates. He reached out and stroked Aya's ribcage, a tentative, uncertain gesture. Aya, still preoccupied by Yohji's attentions, didn't seem to mind.

"I think I should get to go first," Ken commented, giving Yohji a pointed look.

"What the hell're you talking about?" Yohji asked, keeping his voice pitched low for fear of disturbing Aya and breaking the moment.

"It was my idea," Ken explained, "So I should get to go first."

"There's no first," Yohji hissed. "I'm not sharing. Besides, I did all the work. If anyone goes first, it's me."

Ken frowned as if considering what Yohji had just said. After a moment, he nodded, apparently coming to some kind of resolution.

"We could both go at the same time, then," he said.

Yohji thought about that. He didn't want to share Aya, and he certainly didn't want Ken to benefit from his hard work. At the same time, it almost seemed worth it, if it meant he wouldn't have to continue having this idiotic argument. But the idea only held a momentary appeal.

"No," Yohji said, shaking his head, as if dismissing Ken's suggestion. "That'd never work. He'd never go for it."

"He might," Ken replied. "If we tied him up first. He seems pretty … docile at the moment."

As if by way of explanation, Ken nodded toward Aya, who was still sitting in Yohji's lap and had begun to nibble at Yohji's collarbone.

Yohji sighed. "Fine."

Ken's face brightened at Yohji's agreement. It looked like his plans for the evening were going to work out, after all. Not that he had planned on sharing his fun with Yohji, but, at this point, Ken figured a threesome was better than the slow and painful death Aya had promised him. He frowned as a sudden thought occurred to him.

"I get to be on top, though," Ken said.

"No way," Yohji replied.

"But, I called dibs," Ken said, glaring at Yohji.

Yohji gave Ken an eyes-narrowed expression of disgust, followed by a derisive snort.

"It doesn't work that way, Ken-Ken. I'm on top. It's a rule," he said, shrugging as if that simple statement explained everything.

"What?" Ken asked. "What rule? And, why should you get to be on top, anyhow?"

"Ken, Ken, Ken," Yohji said, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe how sad and pathetic Ken was. "Did I teach you nothing about the world? I get to be on top because I'm the tallest."

"What the hell?" Ken asked.

Yohji rubbed his thumb across Aya's jaw -- an almost absent-minded gesture that caused Aya to squirm closer to Yohji and whimper in pleasure. Yohji grinned down at his lap full of happy assassin, thinking that Aya looked almost cute when he was like this.

He only let his attention wander for a moment, though, and quickly looked back at Ken as he replied, shrugging, "I didn't make the rules. I just enforce them."

"Guys, there's no need to fight," a new voice sounded out of the darkness near the foot of the bed, surprising both Ken and Yohji and cutting off Ken's reply.

Yohji and Ken both turned to see Omi. He was standing half in shadow at the foot of the bed, and he winked at them, giving his teammates a wicked grin. Yohji shivered a little at the greedy, predatory expression in Omi's eyes. Sure, Omi might be the youngest member of the team, but he could be damn scary when he set his mind to it. And, this was one of those times. Omi licked his lips, reminding Yohji of a hyena eyeing its prey, and held up his hand. The door was open, allowing a sliver of light from the hallway into the room, and Yohji could see that light glinting off of something dangling from Omi's outstretched index finger. It only took him a moment to realize Omi was offering them a set of handcuffs.

"After all, there should be more than enough of him to go around," Omi said, giving them another teasing wink.

**TBC in Part 4 …**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Summary:**__ Being a florist isn't easy -- a realization Aya is forced to come to grips with when Valentine's Day and his own overtaxed imagination work together to give him a horrible day followed by an equally disturbing evening._

_**Warnings:**__ Bad language. Yaoi / shounen-ai._

_**Legal Stuff:**__ As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it_

**I Love You NOT!**

_(An un-Valentine's Day fanfiction in four parts)_

**Part 4**

Aya woke up screaming. He bolted upright in bed and sat there, cradling his head in the palms of his hands and struggling to bring his breathing back under control. He looked around the room, almost afraid of what he would find, and sighed in relief when he realized it had been a dream. Just a dream, nothing more. Aya's skin was slick with sweat, and, now that he had managed to bring his panic reflex under control, he realized he was cold. He had gone to bed with his window open a crack, and he shivered as the chilly night air hit his wet skin. He pulled the sheets closer and tried to push the dream out of his mind.

It didn't do any good. The more he told himself to forget about it, the more the images assailed his mind. Images that were uncomfortably vivid. It had felt so real. That was the creepy part. It had been so real that he had woken up expecting to find both Yohji and Ken curled up in bed next to him. And Omi …

Aya shuddered at the thought of Omi, standing at the end of his bed, wearing nothing but that frightening smile and holding a pair of handcuffs. Aya knew, without a doubt, he could have lived his entire life -- and been quite happy -- without ever seeing Omi that way. But he had seen it, even if it hadn't been real. And the thought of it made Aya want to gouge out his brain -- preferably with something dull and rusty.

Aya groaned in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair. He made sure to give a vicious tug at the ends, in the hopes that the pain might erase the hated images from his mind.

It was no good. No matter how hard he tried, the dream was still there, floating in his subconscious and feeling more and more real by the second. If this kept up, he figured he'd be ready for his straight jacket and padded cell by morning.

"I need a drink," Aya muttered to his empty room.

Yes, that was it. The perfect solution that would help him forget both the crappy day he had had and the all-too-vivid dream. Aya wasn't much of a drinker, but, at that moment, the thought of being falling-down drunk appealed to him a lot more than he liked to admit. The more he thought about it, the better the idea seemed. Having to put up with squealing girls all day and, then, dreaming you were gang-banged by your teammates called for a good bender. Definitely. If he was lucky, Aya figured he could drink until he passed out, which should, at the very least, give him a night of dreamless sleep. If he was really lucky, maybe he would drink himself into an early grave. Aya found that notion oddly appealing, just because it meant he would never have to see the rest of Weiss like **that**, ever again.

Aya drew his legs up to his chest, embracing them with his arms. He rested his chin on his knees and sighed as he stared at the closed door. That was the one big flaw in his plan. He didn't keep any alcohol in his room, and, after the day he had had, he didn't feel up to going to the convenience store down the street. That meant there was only one handy place to get all the booze he wanted -- Yohji's room. But after the dream he'd just had, Aya wasn't at all sure he wanted to chance running into any of his teammates. Hell, after that dream, Aya figured he might just lock himself up in his room for the rest of his life.

He wondered how Kritiker would react to that. It was a vague, absent-minded thought, and Aya couldn't help snickering when he imagined Omi telling Manx that Abyssinian was unavailable for missions because he was pouting over a bad dream and had locked himself in his room.

Of course, that thought led right back to the image of Omi standing at the foot of his bed with the handcuffs. And that left Aya right where he had started -- wanting to curl up in a fetal position and in need of a very strong drink. Or, several very strong drinks.

Aya stared at the door for a few more minutes before, again, running his fingers through his hair. He was just being stupid, and he knew it. Aya found that even more irritating than the dream had been. Besides, he had overheard Omi talking Ken into seeing some movie after work. They should still be gone. And, he didn't have to worry about Yohji. After all, it was Valentine's Day; he was sure Yohji would be out all night.

'Right, then,' Aya thought, 'No reason to sit around here like a big pansy.'

The dream had made him want to hide away forever. It had made him feel uncomfortable about seeing his teammates, but Aya knew he had to get over that -- and fast. Weiss was a team. They couldn't function properly if one part of that team was too freaked out to be in the same room as the rest of them.

"Oh, get a grip, Fujimiya," Aya muttered.

He tossed the sheets aside and forced himself to get out of bed, shivering as he crossed to his chest-of-drawers. The floor was cold, too, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot as he fumbled through the drawers, grabbing the first pieces of clothing his fingers touched -- a white, long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of old, gray sweatpants. Aya frowned at the hole in the knee of the pants, but he pulled them on, anyhow. He didn't feel like rummaging around for another pair at the moment. He grabbed a pair of socks out of the next drawer down and paused long enough to pull them on, balancing on, first, one foot and, then, the other and hopping across the room toward the door as he did so.

Aya hesitated for a second or two at the door. Yes, he wanted that drink. He needed it, even. But the urge to stay in here, in the safe darkness of his room, was almost too strong to fight. Then again, images and memories of the dream kept popping into his mind, making him think, maybe, his room wasn't all that safe, after all. What was the worst that could happen? Maybe, he would see one or more of his teammates and throw a temper tantrum or freak-out fit. He was sure none of the others would think that was odd behavior on his part. They all considered him something of a prissy prima dona, anyhow, which, he had to admit, was his fault. It wasn't like they hadn't seen him freak out before.

That settled it, then. If he let himself think about this for too long, he knew he wouldn't have the nerve to go through with it. With a sigh of resignation, he grabbed the doorknob and wrenched the door open before he could change his mind.

Yohji's room was only two doors down, and it didn't take more than a moment or two before he found himself standing in front of it, staring at the closed door's old, pitted wood and debating over whether or not he should enter. He hadn't seen anyone in the hallway, and there hadn't been any noise or light coming from either Omi's or Ken's rooms. The rest of the house, like the hallway, was dark and had a deserted, empty feeling to it. Even though he had hoped to avoid seeing any of his teammates, it was a creepy feeling, being alone in a deserted house. It almost felt like he was the last living being on Earth -- and Aya shivered as he tried to shake the sudden sense of loneliness that descended upon him.

"No one's home. Just go in," Aya muttered, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves as he shoved the door open and entered the room.

Yohji's room was dark, quiet, and cool -- almost like a cave -- and Aya stood in the doorway for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust. It didn't take long before the shadowy forms in front of him took shape, revealing Yohji's king-sized bed on the left side of the room, and an old, overstuffed sofa directly across from him, situated underneath a window. There was a small table at one end of the sofa, near Yohji's closet. A lamp stood there, giving off a soft, yellow-white glow that, oddly enough, did more to throw the room into shadow than illuminate it. Even so, it was enough light for Aya. Once his eyes had adjusted, he moved into the room, negotiating his way around a few piles of discarded clothing near the doorway as he moved to Yohji's chest-of-drawers, which stood against the wall, to one side of the door.

He pulled open the second drawer from the top and felt his heart flip-flop in relief when he found exactly what he was looking for -- Yohji's stash of liquor and cigarettes. Good old Yohji. Aya had known the older man wouldn't let him down. He could always count on Yohji to be there for him when the going got rough, even if it was just in the form of booze and cigarettes stashes that were available for easy pilfering.

Aya sighed in relief as he grabbed a pack of cigarettes and removed one of the sticks. It took longer to find a lighter because he had to fumble in the dark recesses of the drawer, but, after a couple of minutes, he managed to retrieve one of the disposables Yohji kept in there as spares for when his own lighter ran out of fluid or flint. Aya's hands were shaking so badly that it took him two tries before he managed to get the cigarette to light.

Once the flame lit, Aya took a big drag off the cigarette. He held the smoke in his lungs for a moment or two, before blowing it out on a long, sighing breath. He tilted his head upward and watched as the smoke streamed out of his mouth to float toward the ceiling. Aya wasn't a regular smoker, and the smoke stung his throat and eyes, making him cough. He flicked a few ashes off the end of the cigarette and felt better for having the nicotine rushing through his body. He wasn't sure why, but there was something calming about it. He figured it was probably just his imagination, but his hands were shaking a bit less. That was a good thing.

Aya cursed under his breath as he turned his attention back to the drawer in search of something to satisfy his other middle-of-the-night craving. This whole thing was stupid. He was being stupid. It hadn't been real. It was only a dream. There wasn't any reason for him to be this upset about it. And, yet, he was upset. His hands were shaking and he could still feel his heart hammering away in his chest. Maybe, it **had** been a dream, but it had felt so damn real. Real enough to send him in here in search of cigarettes and booze -- two vices in which he almost never partook.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Yohji's voice was low, throaty, and hoarse -- barely loud enough to carry across the room -- and it came at him out of the shadowed darkness of the sofa. Aya had just grabbed a bottle of vodka from the drawer, and he spun around to face the sound, startled into dropping the container.

"Fuck," Aya muttered, under his breath, as the bottle, which was about a third of the way full, bounced off his foot.

He glared into the darkness at the opposite end of the room for a few minutes, until he managed to make out Yohji. The older man had been lying on the sofa, but he sat up to face his unexpected visitor, moving into the small circle of dim light given off by the nearby lamp.

"Damn, you're jumpy. Even for you," Yohji commented.

He retrieved his pack of cigarettes from the table. He pulled one of them out, putting it in his mouth and lighting it with what seemed like one smooth, continuous motion. He took a deep drag off the cig, tossing the pack back on to the table. Aya watched as it skittered across the smooth surface, stopping just short of the table's edge.

"What the hell're you doing here?" Aya snapped.

He frowned as he noticed Yohji wore nothing but a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. They were black with pink hearts on them, and Aya couldn't help but think that was a little strange, even for Yohji. What was even stranger was the fact that he had noticed this little detail, and, for some reason, that bothered Aya -- a lot. He tended to be very detail-oriented, but, in light of his dream, he couldn't help but feel a little disconcerted that his mind had so automatically gravitated toward the particulars of Yohji's state of semi-undress.

"I think that's my line. After all, you're in my room, Princess," Yohji replied. The words seemed to ride out of his mouth on another stream of smoke.

Aya frowned at the ridiculous nickname. It was the barest narrowing of his eyes, a facial expression so slight that it was almost lost in the room's shadowy darkness. But, he saw Yohji grin, which told him Yohji had seen the gesture and understood the meaning behind it. For some reason, that irritated Aya, too. Normally, he wouldn't have cared. But, tonight, it felt too much like he had allowed Yohji to get the upper hand in their little exchange.

Aya sighed and opened the vodka, balancing his cigarette between the first two fingers of the hand that clutched the bottle's neck. He took a large swig, grimacing at the stinging burn of the alcohol against his throat as he slid down the wall to sit on the floor next to the dresser. He set the bottle down next to him, taking another long drag off of the cigarette before stubbing out the half-burned stick so that he could turn his full attention to the task of drowning his unwanted dream images in the alcohol he craved at the moment.

Yohji gave Aya an eyebrows-raised, questioning look as he watched the younger man guzzle vodka like there was no tomorrow. Aya wasn't much of a drinker; Yohji had never seen him down more than a couple of beers or a few glasses of sake or wine. And, Aya almost never smoked. In the years they had known each other, he could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Aya with a cigarette. And, yet, here he was -- the paragon of virtue and self-control, Mr. "Perfect", the most tightly wound badass Yohji knew -- slumped on the floor in a dark room, smoking and drinking like a fish. It gave Yohji an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he wondered what had happened to upset Aya this way. Whatever it was, it must have been bad, but Yohji didn't bother asking. He knew better. Aya would never tell him.

"So, what're you doing home?" Aya asked, breaking the almost uncomfortable silence that had fallen over the room. He glanced up at Yohji and frowned before continuing, "And, why the hell're you sitting around here naked, anyhow? Do you have some kind of weird clothes allergy or something?"

Yohji stared at Aya for a couple of seconds. He wasn't sure what he should say. Considering the mood Aya was in, he figured any response could start a fight between the two of them. It was obvious Aya had come in here not expecting anyone to be home, and it was also obvious Aya wasn't happy to find Yohji here. Yohji's first instinct was to play along, to try and placate Aya until he could figure out what was bothering the younger man and, then, try and help Aya through it -- just like always. But, then, the true weight of the situation settled on Yohji. Aya was in his room, acting like he owned the place, being pissy and trying to pick a fight. Not to mention he had stolen ciggies and booze from Yohji's personal stash, and Yohji had a strong feeling Aya wouldn't be inclined to replace the pilfered items. And that pissed him off. A lot.

"I think you're forgetting one very important point," Yohji said, making no attempt to hide the malice in his voice, "This is my room. So, what I do in here is none of your business. I'm not naked, anyhow, in case you hadn't noticed. But, even if I was … If I want to sit around buck-fucking naked in my own room, then I will. And, you don't get a say in it. You're not the King of Everything, no matter what you think."

Aya didn't say anything at first. He just sat there, glaring daggers at Yohji, until the tension in the room felt like a living thing, like something that had swooped down and swallowed them both alive, and Yohji thought he would have to scream, just to break the silence.

"I'm … sorry," Aya muttered.

He looked away from Yohji to stare at the floor next to his feet. Yohji was surprised to see a slight blush coloring Aya's pale skin. Was he flushed because he had just chugged down what was, for him, a large amount of alcohol? Or, was Aya embarrassed? And, why would he be embarrassed, anyhow? It wasn't like Aya hadn't seen a naked guy before. Hell, Aya was a guy, and Yohji was sure he'd seen himself naked lots of times. The whole thing was just … weird. And, it made Yohji uncomfortable. He hated that, and he hated even more that he kept wondering what the hell had happened to make Aya so jumpy -- even after he had told himself he didn't care.

Yohji shrugged and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, indicating Aya was forgiven.

"So, you wanna tell me why you're in here, rummaging around in my underwear drawer?" Yohji asked.

"I needed a drink," Aya replied, as if that explained everything. "There's not any underwear in there," he continued, after a momentary pause, his words muffled as he took another drink.

"Underwear's for sissies," Yohji replied, giving Aya a wicked, teasing grin.

"Fucker," Aya mumbled.

"Are you gonna share that?" Yohji asked.

Aya paused in the midst of bringing the bottle up to his mouth and stared at Yohji for a couple of seconds before shrugging and replying, "No."

"Bastard," Yohji muttered.

Aya laughed -- a small, derisive-sounding chuckle that rode out of his nose on a huff of vodka-scented air. He shrugged at Yohji but didn't pause in his drinking binge.

Yohji responded to Aya's unusual reaction with an eyebrows-raised look of surprise. If he had to guess, he would say Aya was already more than halfway to being three sheets to the wind, and the younger man hadn't even been drinking for very long. Just as Yohji had always suspected -- Aya couldn't hold his liquor. He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head and smiling as his innate good nature and his fondness for Aya overrode his irritation with the younger man's pissy mood.

"You never told me. Why are you even here? I figured you had some hot date or something," Aya said.

"Eh, you know. It was a hard day. I thought I would just kick back, for a change," Yohji replied, shrugging, as if to say that finding him home on one of the biggest date nights of the year was no big deal.

"You got stood up?" Aya asked, his tone incredulous.

Yohji frowned. Aya might be half in the bag, but the alcohol hadn't done anything to dampen his usual perceptiveness. Yohji hated having the truth smack him in the face like that, especially when he had been doing his level best to hide from it all evening. He had almost convinced himself that staying in had been his choice, but Aya's observation brought the reality of it screaming home once again. Yohji suddenly had an almost irresistible urge to slug Aya, and he shook his head, seeking to dismiss it from his mind.

"Why are you in here, anyhow? You look like hell, and this isn't like you," Yohji said, changing the subject instead of answering Aya's question.

Yohji knew that little diversion told Aya everything he wanted to know, and that bothered him. But, he shrugged it off and waved his hand in an arc, as if to encompass all of Aya's recent behavior by way of explanation.

Aya didn't reply. He frowned at Yohji and shook his head, indicating he didn't want to discuss it. He shuddered, as if plagued by a sudden unpleasant thought, and took a big drink from the vodka bottle, grimacing as he swallowed. He held the bottle up and shook it as he squinted at the contents. It seemed like he was upset that his liquid happiness was disappearing so quickly, because he glared at the bottle, as if he could make its contents increase in volume, if he just stared at it the right way. After a couple of seconds, he gave up, shrugging and giving the bottle a crooked grin before taking another drink.

"Nightmare?" Yohji prodded.

Aya shrugged, which Yohji took as a negative response.

"Are you still pissed off about that stupid comic book thing?" Yohji asked.

Aya's eyes narrowed. It was a small gesture, so slight that it was almost unnoticeable. But Yohji knew Aya well enough to see it. And, he knew Aya well enough to know what it meant -- that he had found at least part of the root for Aya's unusual behavior.

"I … I don't want to talk about it," Aya muttered.

"OK. Fine," Yohji said, shrugging.

Yohji figured he didn't have to push things. With the mood Aya was in, not to mention the fact that he wasn't exactly sober, Yohji knew it was only a matter of time before Aya came back to the subject on his own. All he had to do was wait.

They sat in silence for several minutes, the quiet in the room broken only by the sounds of Yohji smoking -- the crackle of his cigarette and the sighing of his breath as he blew streams of smoke toward the ceiling. Aya had drained what was left of the vodka, and, now, sat quietly, with his head leaning back against the wall behind him and his eyes closed.

"Why was I on the bottom?" Aya asked, just when Yohji started to think he had fallen asleep. His voice was soft and so low that it almost didn't carry across the room.

Yohji frowned. He wasn't sure how he should respond to Aya's question. He knew something was bothering Aya. Something big, judging from the younger man's behavior. He figured the whole doujinshi thing had to be part of it. But, he had a feeling there was more to it than just that. Even so, Aya had asked the question, and Yohji knew it was as close as he would get to what was really bugging his friend. Because of that, he knew he couldn't let the query go unanswered.

Yohji cleared his throat and said, "No reason. I'm sure they put me on top because I'm taller. It's like a rule or something."

Aya startled upright and stared at Yohji, a mixture of shock and dismay written across his face. He couldn't help it. Yohji's explanation echoed what had happened in his dream -- so much so that, for a moment, Aya had to wonder whether he was really sitting in Yohji's room, feeling pleasantly buzzed. Or, was he back in his bed, suffering through another of those all-too-vivid dreams? It was a collision of reality and psyche that he found … well, disturbing.

"It's no big deal," Yohji said.

Aya's reaction bothered him because it was surprising. He was used to seeing a flat, almost emotionless affect from Aya, or, at most, a fleeting moment where he could read Aya's thoughts, if he looked quickly enough. But, this -- unguarded emotion written so plainly on Aya's face and in his eyes. Yohji had to admit it gave him the creeps.

"It's because they think I'm …" Aya began, but he shook his head in frustration and allowed his sentence to trail off, unfinished, as he leaned back against the wall and, once again, closed his eyes.

"Because they think you're what?" Yohji asked.

He had a distinct feeling he shouldn't pursue the topic any further, but he couldn't help himself. He had always been a curious person. It often got him into trouble, and Yohji had a sinking feeling this would be one of those times. Even so, he plunged ahead when a lesser man would have held his tongue. Or, maybe that's what a smarter man would have done. Yohji tried not to think about that too much. Over thinking things would only lead to trouble. Yohji was certain of that.

"You know … that I'm the girl. That I'm … girly," Aya muttered, his voice barely audible, even in the quiet that had fallen over the room.

He didn't move, continuing to lean back against the wall, with his eyes closed. But he grimaced and shook his head-- physical signs of how much the thought he had voiced bothered him.

Yohji had to work hard to keep from laughing. Because, really, it wasn't a laughing matter. He hated seeing Aya like this, and he knew there was something more at work here. Sure, the whole doujinshi thing had bothered Aya. Yohji was pretty sure it had been the impetus behind whatever had happened tonight. The fact that Aya kept coming back to it, as if he couldn't leave it alone, told Yohji that much. But something bigger had driven Aya in here to seek comfort in a bottle of booze -- something Aya never did. So, in that respect, this wasn't amusing. Yohji also knew it would be disastrous to laugh at Aya right now. It would only make Aya shut down. Yohji didn't want that, especially not when it was so painfully obvious that Aya needed to talk, even if it was the last thing he seemed to want to do.

Even so, Yohji was only human, and he couldn't deny that the idea of anyone thinking Aya was "girly" was funny. It was almost too damn funny, really, and Yohji found the urge to laugh almost irresistible. He managed to choke it down, but it took a few seconds.

"You think so, too?!" Aya demanded, misinterpreting Yohji's silence as agreement.

He had intended to sound angry, as if there was an implied challenge in the words, but he didn't quite manage it. Instead, his voice came out sounding uncertain and a little whiny. It made Aya cringe inside, as if he had just proven the point.

"No. No way!" Yohji protested. "I was just …"

His voice trailed off as he realized there was no way he could finish that sentence without starting a fight.

"Anyhow," Yohji continued, clearing his throat, "You're being ridiculous. No one would think that."

"You think it," Aya muttered, his voice taking on a petulant tone that made him sound like a stubborn three-year-old.

"I don't," Yohji protested.

Aya still didn't open his eyes, but he frowned as he said, "You flirt with me. All the time. Just like a woman."

Yohji rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Good grief. Don't go getting ideas that you're special or something. I flirt with everyone. You know that."

"Not with Ken," Aya said, stubbornly refusing to let the subject drop.

"I do so," Yohji replied. "You just don't realize it. Seriously, for someone who's so detail oriented, you can be a bit of an idiot most of the time."

"Not with Omi," Aya said.

Yohji thought about that. He had to admit, Aya had a point. He might joke around with Omi, but he didn't think he had ever been outwardly flirtatious.

"Yeah, that's true," Yohji said, nodding his agreement with Aya's statement. "But, Omi's scary. He seems all cute and cuddly-sweet, but we all know damn good and well that he's not."

"So, if you slept with me, would you think of me as a woman?" Aya asked.

Yohji blanched at that. He couldn't do anything more than give Aya a shocked stare. He had no idea what in the world had caused Aya's brain to wander down this particular road, but he knew the trip would culminate in a dead end -- probably one with a steep drop-off. There was no way he could answer this question, and Yohji floundered for a few seconds, trying to figure out what he could and should say. He decided to change the subject.

"Why the hell're you so upset about that stupid doujinshi, anyhow?" Yohji asked.

He stood up and stretched, groaning as he loosened up muscles that were kinked and sore from sitting on the sofa for too long. He crossed the floor to stand next to Aya, who hadn't moved all this time, but still sat with his head tilted back against the wall behind him and his eyes closed. If Yohji hadn't known better, he would have believed Aya was asleep. But, he did know better. Aya might be drunk, but he was awake, and listening, very hard -- as if Yohji's answer to his ridiculous question was the most important thing in Aya's universe.

Yohji continued to stare down at Aya for a few more seconds. Maybe he hoped for some sort of reaction or explanation for the very odd direction of this conversation, but Aya didn't offer any. Not that Yohji had expected him to. He knew Aya well enough to know better, no matter how much he might hope otherwise. Yohji sank down onto the floor, next to Aya, so close that their arms brushed up against each other. Aya's body stiffened at the physical contact, but he didn't make any effort to move away. Yohji sighed and reached over to rescue the empty bottle, which had been dangling from Aya's slack fingers, perilously close to falling to the floor. Once he had set the bottle aside, Yohji settled into a more comfortable position, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes -- an almost perfect echo of Aya's relaxed posture. Aya was quiet now, and, at first, Yohji thought he might get lucky enough to avoid the younger man's odd question altogether.

He should have known better. Once Aya got an idea in his head, no matter how ridiculous, he wouldn't let it go. Not before beating it to death, anyhow.

"So?" Aya asked, "Would you? Think of me as a woman?"

"You're drunk," Yohji countered, still trying to turn Aya's question aside.

Aya seemed to think about that for a moment. He laughed -- a low, throaty sound under his breath -- as he replied, "Yeah, I think I am. Cool."

He was quiet for a moment -- a heartbeat, maybe two -- before he asked again, "So, would you?"

Yohji groaned under his breath. He did not want to answer this question. He did not want to talk about this.

"I don't wanna talk about this," Yohji said, voicing his thoughts out loud. "Why do you want to know, anyhow?"

"I just … want to know," Aya said, shrugging, "I won't get mad."

Yohji doubted that. Still, he knew Aya wasn't going to let it go.

"OK. Fine," Yohji said, with a sigh of resignation, "No. No, I wouldn't think of you as a woman. Now, you answer my question. Why are you so upset about that stupid comic?"

Aya shrugged as he mumbled, "I dunno. It just … made me look so stupid. And easy. And I was on the bottom." He paused, as if grasping for reasons, before shrugging again and repeating, "I dunno. How come you're not?"

"Look," Yohji said, unable to believe he was uttering the words even as he heard them spill from his mouth, "No one would ever think you're easy. It's not like you're the kind of person who would be won over by a home cooked meal and some silly jewelry."

"That's what I'm saying," Aya mumbled, almost under his breath.

"And, I'm not upset about it," Yohji continued, "Because it's not real. I mean, think about it. In what universe would I want to fuck you? I mean, you're way too high maintenance for me, even if I was inclined in that direction … which I'm not."

"Everyone hates me, you know," Aya said.

He said it in an off-hand manner, his voice flat, even, and expressionless -- like it was something that didn't matter at all. But Yohji knew better. He knew Aya wasn't the emotionless asshole he appeared to be. Aya just hid things really well. But, now, he was drunk; he had had a hard day; something had happened to push him over the edge tonight; and he was vulnerable. Vulnerable enough that he couldn't keep his emotions at bay. Yohji felt a wave of sadness wash over him, hearing Aya voice his innermost thoughts like this. Aya said it like it was a forgone conclusion; not like he was asking, but like he already knew how everyone felt about him. And, that twisted at Yohji's heart.

"Don't be stupid," Yohji said, his voice gruff, "I don't hate you."

"But you don't like me enough to sleep with me," Aya said, his tone absent-minded, as if he wasn't fully aware of what he was saying. He paused for a moment before asking, "You wouldn't? You really wouldn't? I'm that awful?"

"You're not awful," Yohji said, his urge to reassure Aya outweighing the little voice of reason that was screaming at him to shut the hell up and let the subject drop. "No, I wouldn't sleep with you. Not because I hate you, or because you're awful. Because I like women. And, you don't happen to be one. It's nothing personal."

"But, what if you didn't like women?" Aya asked. "What if you liked men? Then, would you?"

Yohji groaned in frustration. He banged his head against the wall.

"Do you really, seriously, think about shit like this? Are you telling me you would want to fuck me?" Yohji asked.

"No," Aya said.

"Then, why the hell're you doing this to me?" Yohji asked.

"Dunno," Aya replied, shrugging.

"Yeah, well, I know," Yohji snapped, "You're drunk. And, you're making me wish I was drunk, too. Because, then, maybe this whole stupid thing would make some kind of twisted sense. I mean, do we really wanna be talking about this?"

"Probably not," Aya muttered.

"Good answer," Yohji said, nudging Aya with his elbow.

He was relieved when he heard Aya laugh in response. They sat in silence for a minute or two, before Yohji felt a weight against his side and the warmth of Aya's body leaning against his. Aya settled against Yohji, squirming around until he was in a more comfortable position, with his head pillowed on Yohji's shoulder.

"Valentine's Day sucks," Aya mumbled, his words slurred and his voice so quiet that Yohji had to strain to hear him.

Yohji chuckled.

"Amen to that," he said. "A day dedicated to love. Who woulda thought such a great idea could go so horribly wrong? The really bad thing is that we have to go through the whole thing again in a month."

Aya groaned.

"White Day sucks, too," he muttered.

Yohji didn't bother voicing his agreement. He felt Aya's weight lean more heavily against him, and he figured Aya would be asleep soon. Within a couple of minutes, he heard Aya's breathing even out, and he knew he was right. Yohji shifted around a little, so that Aya was resting in a more comfortable position. He couldn't help but wonder if he would be stuck here on the floor all night. A small part of his brain told him he should be pissed at Aya for the inconvenience of this drama queen crap, but, really, Yohji found he couldn't do it. He chuckled under his breath as he thought about Aya's very strange conversation, and resolved to tease the younger man about it -- mercilessly -- at the first opportunity.

"Happy Valentine's Day, you little shit," Yohji muttered, as he made himself as comfortable as he could, settling in for what might be a long night.

**End**

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**__: I just wanted to include a little "thank you" to everyone who stuck the story out and read through to the ending. I realize this fic was very different from what I usually write, and I really worried over posting it. I apologize, from the bottom of my heart, if the content in earlier chapters was offensive to any of my readers. I can't begin to express how much I appreciate the support you guys have given my work here on and am very grateful to all of you for taking the time to read. I hope that you will continue to do so, even though this particular story was a bit "odd". Thank you all so much._

_-Tex-chan_


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